


Days of Our Tomatoes

by counterheist



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, Somebody Missed His Siesta, don't take this seriously, lighthearted mentions of bondage and mpreg, spain brings it upon himself
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-22
Updated: 2010-08-22
Packaged: 2017-11-28 16:50:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/676666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/counterheist/pseuds/counterheist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Hetalia, everything is a matter of national importance. Even television. </p>
            </blockquote>





	Days of Our Tomatoes

“How **dare** you?”

Spain rubbed his face and wondered what was so wrong with putting potatoes in his dinner. He did it all the time. Didn’t Romano ever watch when Spain made gnocchi di patate for him? Didn’t Romano ever watch when he made gnocchi di patate for himself?

“But Roma…” Spain set down his stirring spoon and nervously patted down his lacy apron.

“No.” Romano crossed his arms and pushed his chair violently away from the table he had been slumped over, watching Spain ~~do all the~~ work. “I’m leaving.”

But… no! But Spain had made food for _two_! “You can’t!” Such a waste!

“Is that…” Romano paused in the doorway, and sharply pulled his head back to look at a bottle Spain had tried to hide with a dishtowel. Two stomps later, Romano was back in the room and full of a burning, _righteous_ anger. He grabbed the bottle in one hand and thrust it towards Spain’s confused face, mindful to let the little ‘Veneto’ label show. “I always knew you loved my brother more!”

Shit, Spain knew that impulsive olive oil purchase was going to come back and bite him in the ass. “No, Roma, it’s not what it looks like! It was just cheaper at the market, I swear!” He grabbed Romano’s struggling hands in his own, around the half-full bottle he still sort of needed to cook with, please don’t smash that. “There was a sale!”

“Don’t ‘No, Roma’ **me** you ungrateful **bastard**.” Despite Spain’s attempts at saving it, soon the bottle of extra virgin olive oil was in the air, along with Romano’s hands. “Now get out of my way.”

“We can talk this through. I need you!” And not only to finish the rest of the meal he had made… Spain couldn’t undo the locks on his shackles by himself! And the last time he’d had to call France to help him out after Romano had stormed away mid pasta-bondage experiment, Romano had gotten really angry. _Really_ angry.

Romano paused in the doorway. Again. “I don’t need you.” His hair fell across his shadowed face. Except for that one strange curl that Spain was only allowed to fiddle with when the handcuffs and the colander came out. That stayed erect.

“…do you really mean that?” Spain began to cry as a large glob of oil fell from the ceiling into his left eye and old fears that Romano would leave him forever because of his natural defensiveness and the mistaken paranoid impression that Spain wasn’t crazy about him bobbed to the surface of Spain’s mind.

Romano’s “yes” was less firm and more hiccupy than he would have liked, but when he started bawling, as he had begun to upon seeing Spain’s tears, it was hard for Romano to enunciate properly.

Spain sniffled. “Oh…”

And that was that. “Dammit, how could you?” Romano raced back across the kitchen ( _again_ ) and pulled at Spain’s apron before collapsing into a sobbing mess on the floor. “I thought I could _trust_ you.”

“Oh Roma…” Spain gladly collapsed with him, because he’d been standing for a little too long and because Romano didn’t mind Spain being handsy when they were both so wrapped up in a moment. “OW! What was that for?” Or maybe not so much.

Romano shook out his hand from the mean jab to the gut he’d given Spain. Voice still wavering slightly, he moved a little to the side, pulling Spain along with him to escape the still-dripping oil. “Don’t you **dare** think that a bottle of wine will fix all your problems!”

Huh? “Wine? My problems?” Who had said anything about wine?

“Olive oil from Veneziano! And the potatoes.” Romano huffed and effortlessly jumped off the floor, as though he hadn’t spent the last ten minutes angrily pacing and sighing. He peered down at Spain ( _delighted at being taller for once_ ) and smirked. “And hurry up. I’m hungry.”

So energetic, his Roma. Spain managed to get up and back to the stove without any help other than Romano gloating at him, and smiled. “Even for potatoes?”

Romano stopped gloating as he resumed his seat at the table. “Shut up.”

He was willing to eat potatoes? Without a ~~nother~~ fight? What madness was this?? “Wait… Roma, does this mean you’re…?!” Spain had always wanted another henchman! And maybe this one would be better at dusting!

“I said I was hungry, dammit, why do you have to read into everything?” Romano twisted his mouth into a pout and Spain had to remember that he was chained to the stove and that Romano always seemed to reward exclamations of “ **BUHYOOO** ” with a kick to the groin. Even though Spain _had_ to remember, he didn’t. Romano ran for the door ( _for the third time_ ). “Fuck! I’m leaving!”

“No! Not a third time, Roma I promise I’ll change!”

Unfortunately, in order to run for the door, Romano had to run past the stove. It was a minor interior design flaw that Romano was definitely going to have changed about Spain’s house later on. “ **You**!” Naturally, Spain pulled Romano into his arms before Romano could get anywhere near the exit ( _again_ ).

“Roma…”

“…Spain.”

And then they made out.

**Author's Note:**

> Spain likes it so much it’s become normal to him now. He must be surprised at the relatively small amount of slapping that goes on in other people’s relationships.
> 
> Also: Apparently Romano’s anger manifests itself as lots of bolding and italics.
> 
> gnocchi di patate: potato dumpling things that are delicious and all over Rome and beyond, ironically. Stop hating your own food, Romano!
> 
> “that impulsive olive oil purchase”: while not as famous, the stuff is grown in the north too. Would it be sold cheaper in Spain than any other type? Um…it was a **really** good sale?
> 
> Double Also: Telenovelas did not originate in Spain ( _they’re obviously from S. Korea, duh_ ). But the Spamano relationship fits in quite nicely. Think about it: ‘Tomatoes in Difficult Times’ ‘Without Tomatoes There is No Paradise’ ‘120 Episodes of Two Mediterranean Men Banging and Angsting Dramatically Before Banging Some More. With Tomatoes.’
> 
> pasta-bondage experiment: Don’t look at me like that.
> 
> Triple Also: I’m so used to writing in the HTML that I got to the last few lines before I realized this was for my journal and I didn’t need to do that.
> 
> From Wikipedia, quote about Telenovelas: _The plot is always the same. In the first three minutes of the first episode the viewer already knows the novela will end with that same couple kissing each other. A telenovela is all about a couple who wants to kiss and a scriptwriter who stands in their way for 150 episodes._ Replace ‘minutes’ with ‘sentences,’ ‘episode’ with ‘chapter’, ‘150 episodes’ with ‘10+ chapters’… what does it remind you of? :D
> 
> Quadruple Also: I almost put a real, descriptive ending in there. And then I remembered what this was. The result is much more fitting.
> 
> Pentuple Also: The summary is misleading but y’know. It’s all about the feel of things.


End file.
